


Counting Stars

by ThunderPhang



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Scottish Honeymoon, Stargazing, Tea, post 159
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderPhang/pseuds/ThunderPhang
Summary: You can't see the stars from the city.Out here in the country side, though, they're as clear as day.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	Counting Stars

**Author's Note:**

> here's my obligatory contribution to the fandom of scottish honeymoon shenanigans. i meant to have this finished before 161 dropped, but, uh. [checks watch] yeah.
> 
> enjoy!

Jon can’t sleep.

Well, he _can_ sleep. _Can’t_ is a strong word. If anything, he can sleep perfectly fine. Like a baby, some would say. Except babies tended to move and wriggle and cause a fuss when they do sleep. Jon? He was a… _unique_ sleeper. He didn’t move. He didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t wriggle. He wasn’t a- blanket hog, or kicker, or anything of the sort. When he slept, Jon was entirely still. 

Jon had forgotten about it until Martin had pointed it out to him a few nights ago, with his hand abruptly shaking Jon’s shoulder to jolt him from his sleep. He’d turned over to meet Martin’s eyes, which were wide and filled with silent panic. He’d thought that Jon had stopped sleeping all together and died right then and there in the dead of night. An unintentional scare, and by no means Jon’s fault, but it didn’t stop the nagging sense of guilt that sat like a heavy weight in his chest the following day.

Tonight, Jon just… _couldn’t_. He couldn’t find it in himself to sleep.

Jon stared at the stark, bleak wall in the darkness of the safehouse. His mind was adrift, not particularly taking to anything. His body was twisted at an odd angle by the waist, with one leg draped over Martin, the other nestled between his knees. One arm had taken purchase underneath Martin, while he clutched the other to his chest. His chin rested itself on the back of Martin’s neck, but he angled it in such a way that he had a view of the relatively cramped and dusty bedroom. 

_Better than that excuse of a mattress in the Archives_ , he thought to himself.

Martin shifted under Jon’s hold, mumbling something incoherent, before settling again. His grip tightened on Jon’s hand, and curled in on it protectively. Jon didn’t protest, exhaling deeply and returning to his absent-minded staring out into nothingness. The comforting warmth of Martin kept him preoccupied, given that his body practically dwarfed the bed and the proximity grounded them. 

It wasn’t everything, though, as much as Jon might’ve liked. There was no be-all, end-all fix to it, and he was going to stare vacantly into the wall for the next several hours if his brain allowed it. He wasn’t even sure _why_ he couldn’t sleep in the first place. There was the itching _pull_ for him to do something, get his brain _working_ and exercise his mind. Keep it sharp _._ It was repulsed by the stagnation almost as much as Jon wanted to sink himself into Martin’s company and stay there. 

It was just another one of these nights, he supposed. Old habits die hard, or so they say.

Jon was meticulous in his worming out of Martin’s hold, careful not to disturb him from sleeping. He slipped his hand out from underneath, which did prompt Martin to furrow his brows at the sudden absence of Jon, a flicker of a scowl crossing his face. Jon held his breath, taking delicate fingers to run them through the soft, voluminous, blonde mess that was Martin’s hair. It soothed the subconscious anxieties somewhat, which was enough of an opportunity to slip out his stiff limbs and help himself to sit up and throw his legs across the side of the bed.

Jon took the time to fold in over himself, digging his palms into his eyes before groaning harshly into his arms. His shoulders instinctively slumped, but he brought them back up as he heard the covers shift from further movement. He turned over his shoulder to spy Martin tossing himself over to the other side, a hand groping the air for where it would typically find Jon’s comfort. He didn't want to leave Martin alone in bed.

Jon took Martin’s hand with his own, marred touch, squeezing it fondly. It was placating enough. Jon didn’t let go so easily, instead taking the crumpled pillows that had supported his head and bundled them up against Martin for the faux impression that Jon was still there. Martin coddled them fondly, and grumbled once more in his sleep. Jon couldn’t help but breathlessly chuckle, leaning back down to plant a faint kiss on Martin’s forehead.

“I’ll be back in a bit.” He murmured.

Reluctantly, Jon allowed his hand to slip from Martin’s hold, hoping that the lingering heat would tide him over until he came back. Martin snorted affirmatively, as if he’d heard it in his sleep, then rolled over to embrace the pillow silhouette of Jon, and resumed his light snore; the snore that always made Jon’s heart flutter, as much as it kept him up at night. He never had the spirit to chide him for it, considering it as one of Martin’s more endearing, innocent traits. 

A small smile broke his lips as he silently shuffled from the room, moving into the living room and looking over the mess that had been made of their situation; clothes strewn about, empty mugs left on whatever surface they could find, leftover packets of snacks. A legal pad sat on the table by the open kitchen, scrawled with small notes in both his own handwriting, and a few new additions made by Martin.

He went about the ritual of taking two mugs from the kitchen cupboard, and starting the ritual of making tea, turning on the kettle and getting two teabags, one for each cup.

Jon leaned his hip against the counter as he quietly waited, arms folded across his chest in loose embrace, with his eyes fixed out the petite, square window that overlooked the back paddock of lush grass and rolling hills. Moonlight framed the sparse trees that flowed in the wind, and it was enough of a tranquil distraction that Jon had almost entirely forgotten the kettle in the first place until it started rumbling and whistling, hot steam rising into his face. 

A flush of panic swept through him as he hurriedly swept it away, hoping that it hadn’t woken Martin. He promptly filled both mugs, allowing them to steep appropriately.

“Jon?”

Martin’s groggy voice called, edged with a silent, invisible anxiety and cracking under the weight of deep sleep. Jon cursed under his breath, considering he wanted to keep Martin undisturbed until his return, but he couldn’t help it now.

“Ah- I‘m in the kitchen.” Jon tiredly chimed in response, rubbing the back of one hand into one eye to try and wipe out any remaining fatigue. He could hear a sigh of relief, the shuffling of covers, blankets and pillows, and it wasn’t long before Martin stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight. Martin’s hair was cow-licked, a tangled nest, with his glasses sat on his nose crooked and the red flush of having his face pressed against the warmth of a pillow evident in the low light.

Jon greeted him with a small, tight smile, every bit fond and incredulous that Martin was in his life at all.

Martin stretched his arms up, rubbing one hand on his exposed stomach as he swayed over, staggering to rest his chin on Jon’s head and stare down at the mugs. “What’re doing...?” Martin asked, voice hoarse yet gentle, like sweet honey. Jon was content, leaning back into Martin’s encompassing warmth and inhaling deeply, taking in the wonderful smell of his clothes, which was admittedly, also Jon’s clothes, but it held more charm and association if Martin was the one wearing them.

“I’m, uh, making some tea. What else does it look like?” Jon answered, tapping his finger on the rim of one mug. It was a genuine question, nothing sharp or accusatory. Hardly above a whisper, given the time of night and they were sharing their own, private secret.

However, the answer didn’t satisfy Martin, as much as it tickled him to see Jon making tea for once. Martin wrapped one arm around Jon’s waist, and buried his nose into the other’s hair. “I mean, what are you doing _awake_ , Jon.” Martin mumbled into Jon, sending warm, pleasant shivers down his spine. 

“Ah, well.” Jon started, pursing his lips and staring down at the mug as if to avoid the ire of Martin Blackwood’s judgement and care. He’d much rather savour the pleasant sensation of being held, of being welcomed, of being coddled in the world’s warmest, most protective blanket. In a way, he was. But, avoiding the elephant in the room would cause more trouble than it was worth. 

“I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I might… make some tea. Er. Get some work done before the sun comes up.” Jon’s fingers fidgeted with the handle of the mug, worming around it, trying to find purchase on it but not _quite_ picking it up. Leaving it to rest on the counter. A silence settled, and Jon couldn’t tell if it was Martin’s thoughts that scared him, that he’d be quietly reprimanded for trying to do _work_ , or that Martin had fallen asleep on him, standing up right.

Jon had certainly done it before, so he wouldn’t be surprised.

Martin eventually drew out a long sigh, squeezing Jon tightly and wrapping large, soft hands around Jon’s scarred ones. He cupped it together and rubbed his thumbs against Jon’s knuckles. Jon pulled his attention from the cup, angling his head up to try and catch a glimpse of whatever expression Martin wore in the darkness, managing only to make it more awkward for him and his horrid posture.

“Come on, Jon.” Martin politely spoke to him in a sleepy, yet firm tone. He couldn’t blame Jon for _not_ sleeping. That was out of his control, and really, something rare for Jon in the first place. Something about - _dreams_. Martin never pushed the issue. He wouldn’t push this one either, but really? _Really? Working?_

Martin nudged Jon toward the counter, unwrapping one hand to pick up a cup, and gesturing for him to do the same. Jon followed his lead, taking the cup in slender hands as Martin guided him along by the waist. It was awkward and clumsy, trying to keep Jon pressed close while ensuring he wasn’t spilling the tea that Jon dutifully prepared (for the both of him, now that he noticed, unless Jon was planning on drinking two cups). They walked side by side, though they clashed when Jon’s brain steered him to turn back into their bedroom and Martin kept walking forward.

Jon’s instinctive reaction had him let out a confused noise, blinking as Martin kept tugging Jon along like he was showing him something,

“Nnh?” Jon eloquently articulated, regaining his footing and surrendering to Martin. Martin, on the other hand, was eagerly cupping his own mug, creases of where the folds of the pillow imprinted on his cheek now visible in the moonlight. Jon wanted to run his fingers across them. Just to feel the hot flush and strange patterns left behind.

“You can’t exactly sleep, so… figured there’s not much point sitting around in bed.” Martin explained as he went, Jon blinking as he realised they approached the front door. “Put on your boots. Sit outside for a bit?” 

An inane offer, considering it was almost winter, and they were liable to freeze their _asses off._ Jon’s expression twisted to convey that possibility accordingly, which had Martin huff.

“Don’t give me that. Just for a bit. Not long. I promise.” Martin pleaded, squeezing his warm hand that was curled around Jon’s waist. “I can start the fire when we come back inside.”

Dealbreaker.

“...Five minutes.” Jon surrendered. “The last thing we need is to get sick from sitting out in the cold, though. Tea might not fix that.”  
  
Martin’s grateful smile flashed to a puff of cheeks, indignant,

“You don’t know that. It works plenty of miracles!”

“I’m sure it does.” Jon remarked in that dry way of his, slipping into his boots. It was a frustrated effort, Jon attempting to shimmy his bare foot into the shoe without undoing the laces. A lot of stomping, trying to get it out, while Martin chuckled as he undid his own laces and put on his shoes normally.

“Do you want me to get that for you?” Martin asked.

“I’m _fine_.” Jon protested in his typical tone. 

One shoe was on, but now Martin was standing up again, holding his tea while he watched Jon aggressively try and stamp the shoe into submission like he was squashing a spider under his foot. After a few huffs and puffs, the shoe went on, and he swiped his tea. Martin nodded, eyes no longer dragging from sleep.

“All right. Let’s go.” Martin reached for the door, unlocking and turning the knob and opening it to the cold, biting winds that swept through the both of them. It was chilling, the both of them instinctively shuddering as they crossed the threshold. There wasn’t much in the way of light, but a full moon was the best night light, if any. Martin took the opportunity, reaching for Jon’s free hand and holding it securely, lacing their fingers together as they walked out into the front garden on the tiny hill of grass they’d temporarily call home.

It wasn’t much. Overgrown with weeds, stone pathing that was disturbed, overturned and discarded. A fence that had been overtaken by whatever was planted before, or fell over in less than harsh winds that swept through the valley. For now, the winds lapped at their feet, their legs, and it wasn’t long before Jon was chattering his teeth. Martin, for the most part, was unphased, making a pivot turn into the garden and guiding Jon to a small bench that Jon wasn’t even aware existed. 

Not that the appearance of it could vouch for its own structural integrity, but Martin sat down, and Jon followed, the bench creaking under their weight. Jon couldn’t help but jerk away, afraid it might crumble, but Martin was gruntled, and swung Jon’s hand up in the air. 

The two of them, sitting outside at God knows what hour, in the frigid cold, with their own cups of tea, doing…

Doing what, exactly?

Jon had realised that Martin had been silent the entire time they were out here, and there wasn’t much to be said about them sitting out here. He didn’t follow. Was this supposed to help him sleep? His eyes scanned the scenery around them, all the dark shapes, and there was an uneasy sensation that something might dart out and attack them while they were vulnerable, exposed. His hold on both his cup and Martin’s hand tensed, and he curled his head into his shoulders and cleared his throat.

“Erm. What are we- doing out here, precisely?” Jon asked, mustering the courage to turn over to Martin with wide, green eyes, clutching his cup to his chest as some saving grace to stave off of the cold.

Martin, who was transfixed by the open night sky, startled to attention and turned down to see Jon, or at least, the outlines of his body. Jon never did seem to notice how his eyes, even in the dim light of his office, had a faint glow about them. Like a cat, peering around the corner. Not blinking. _Staring._ All attention was where Jon’s eyes followed, and Martin did need time becoming accustomed to waking up to. Well. _That._

Martin also didn’t answer Jon’s question, preferring instead to take in the sight of Jon before realising, right, staring is also creeping and weird and even if Jon was reluctantly tied to what he was, it wasn’t going to come out unless it was of his own accord.

“Oh, well, uh...“ Martin nestled his warm cup between his legs after taking a sip from it. “We’ve been here for a week now, and since we’re not in the city anymore, I thought we might as well make the most of it. So...“ Martin made a gesture with one hand, outward, toward the clear night sky and his face heated. Out of embarrassment for not telling Jon, or the situation, it was hard to tell. 

“I thought we might appreciate the stars. No light pollution, no city skyscrapers, nothing. Just us and the sky. For, uhm... for fun?” 

For fun, of course.

Martin Blackwood always managed to surprise him.

_For fun._

“For fun.” Jon echoed quietly, pulling his legs up to tuck them inward on the bench.

It’s small, almost silent but Jon started to chuckle. His body sought out Martin like a moth to the flame, resting his head against the other’s shoulder while he laughed. It trailed off, and Jon sighed, craning his neck up to meet the gaze of the stars.

Fun in the cold, shivering darkness, huddled together to share warmth in each other’s proximity. To gaze and marvel at the sky, the stars in all their majesty, and admire how the Milky Way was so infinitely _large_ yet impossibly small and insignificant at the same time. That was just their _galaxy_ , and even then, they were in their own solar system. Beyond that, infinite marvels, infinite majesty and beauty. The black sky was dotted with lights of fairies and fireflies, dancing in their dull hues of colour. When Jon thought there were dozens, it turned to hundreds in the blink of an eye, stars burning bright, or dim enough where if one squinted, you could see it.

Martin had decompressed, resting his cheek on the top of Jon’s head once more, melting into his company and staring wistfully at the universe beyond. Peace blanketed them, tranquility washing by. There was nothing wrong, with the two of them there, holding each other. From here, on their little perch, everything was okay. The world was normal, Martin would like to think. 

Nothing to fear. Just the blissful eternity of fleeting life, stirring next to him in a small ball, both of them mesmerised by the dotted burning balls of fusing elements so, so far away.

How blessed they were, to live in this moment. How blessed they were, to live in each other’s company, they thought.

“Jon?” Martin whispered, turning a cheek so his face was partially in Jon’s hair again, hot breath exhaled against his head.

“Mm?” Jon stirred, drawing himself out of the trance of his eyes skipping from star to star, admiring their individual characteristics painted against the sky.

Martin set his cup down next to him to raise a hand up. He pointed at the sky, to a vague section of it. Given the plethora of stars, it was hard to tell, but Martin made the effort anyway. 

“Can you see that bright star over there? And to the upper left of it, another larger, brighter one?” 

Where Martin was pointing, Jon tried to follow his eyeline, and it wasn’t long before he’d found what he was talking about. They stuck out sore thumbs in comparison to the rest of the stars, practically dwarfing them in size and light. They might as well swallow all the surrounding stars whole. 

Jon nodded, albeit he had to squint his eyes to see it. “I see it. They’re rather large, at least, in comparison to the other ones.”  
  
“If you connect the dots in the stars around it, you’ll get the Orion constellation.” Martin explained, Jon shifting his posture as another cold breeze swept through. “It’s easy to spot, since Rigel and Betelgeuse are so bright and big.”

Jon observed the constellation proper, mumbling under his breath, “I didn’t know you were into astronomy.” In hindsight, it was obvious. Martin, furtively studying the stars for his own pursuits. Jon wouldn’t know why he would, but it did seem like an area Martin might take particular interest in.

Jon shivered at the creeping warmth from Martin’s cheeks, the other shaking his head.

“Astrology, actually. It sort of... all bled into each other? I read a lot of books about it, for, er, my poems. In hindsight, it was kind of redundant, trying to stargaze in the middle of London.” There was mysticism to be found in the stars, as was there romance. The Zodiac star signs, alongside Greek myths that told stories through names, all aimed to be attempts of Martin chasing after the flowery language of love. There was a time where his research slowly bled into being fascinated in the science of the stars themselves, the naming conventions, and far too much trivia for someone to hold onto.

In the end, Martin decided it would be for the best to stick to moon metaphors when it came to the night sky. A moon captured the essence of Jonathan Sims far better than anything else he could muster within his arsenal.

“Did learn a good thing or two about compatible star signs, though!” Martin added, huffing a small chuckle. “If you ever wanted to know, for, uhm. Future reference.”

Star signs. Jon couldn’t believe it, literally and metaphorically, shaking his head and burying it further into Martin’s side as if it would dissuade Martin from his thoughts. It did sound like something he’d like, however, so he wouldn’t disparage him. Let him have it if he wanted it, since there was no harm, no foul. Given he wasn’t going to give him daily readings in the morning. 

“If I need any guidance for the stars, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Jon acknowledged at last, another shiver before his teeth started to chatter. 

Martin let a helpless, low laugh escape him, pressing himself closer against Jon, “Glad to be of help.”

Jon’s attention was drawn away from appreciating the sky overhead as the cold seeped into his bones. In addition, his neck was starting to ache from having to gawk upwards, craned at an awkward position, even with Martin’s added stability. As much as he’d like to sit outside and admire the majesty for eons, watching as the stars never blinked in their fixed positions, Jon was liable to freeze to death. Even with his pocket warmth of tea more than eagerly cupped in his free hand, even with Martin’s presence sheltering him, curling over him like a bent tree, they were still mortal. 

Or so he’d liked to pretend.

Martin took heed, the arm that had wrapped itself around Jon in a protective cocoon rubbing his hand up and down his shirt sleeve as if it would stave off the worst of it. Both of them knew they were overstaying their welcome, terribly underdressed for the affair, so it was Martin who piped up to break the comfortable silence that had settled,

“We should probably head in.” He noted, not disguising the slight hint of disappointment in his voice.

Jon scoffed, dry yet forcing a wry smile, “It would be preferable _not_ to turn into a human popsicle, as much as I’d like to observe the night sky a while longer with you.” 

Martin rolled his eyes, moving his cup to bump Jon’s. “All right, all right.” He sighed, outstretching his cup further to Jon. Jon raised a brow, confused for the implications, until Martin gestured more openly for him to take it. Jon accepted it, further perplexed as he sat with both cups in either hand, a spitting image of Martin’s early days; standing by the door awkwardly, patiently waiting to offer Jon his cup of tea for the morning. Martin could just scoop him up in his arms. 

So he did.

It’s not the bridal-style deftness that the Martin daydreams like to imagine, nowhere near as graceful or romantic as one arm went under Jon’s legs, the other arm supporting Jon’s back as Martin stood from their little bench. It almost entirely backfired on the both of them, Martin arching back as he took on a majority of the weight, while Jon’s panic at the sudden abruptness of being kidnapped as he held two cups of lukewarm tea wasn’t of any help either. 

He _wanted_ to grab onto Martin for stability, but was left flapping his arms as he tried to ensure their drinks didn’t spill onto either of them.

_“Martin!”_ Jon squawked, flustered as he tried to call the calm back to him, “Warn me next time if you’re going to do that!”

Martin laughed loudly, vibrating deep in his chest with a comforting rumble, ”I think you mean _when_ I’m going to do that, because I think I’d want to do this again.” A bright, radiant smile that caught on the moon’s light reflected back at Jon, Martin adjusting to ensure Jon wasn’t going to topple over and was content bundled in his arms. 

Jon huffed indignantly, pulling the cups close to his chest and giving a tight-lipped frown.

“Oh, come on Jon.” Martin shook his head, taking his first steps forward. “Don’t look at me like that.”  
  
Jon didn’t relent. “I almost spilt my tea.” He remarked in kind.

“I can always make you more if you want it.” Martin replied.  
  
Jon gave silent contemplation at that, while Martin stepped over the tangles and small turnings of earth in the garden. In hindsight, picking up Jon and maneuvering about the front garden at night was not the best of ideas. Martin couldn’t count how many times he’d stubbed his toes on the discarded stones and rocks that nature had reclaimed and jostled about. Maybe they could fix that in the morning.

Jon hummed as they made their way back to the threshold of warmth, turning his attention back up to Martin, eyes a dull green glow. “I’d like another cup, actually.” He spoke plainly. “If you, ah, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m still a bit rubbish at it.”

Of course, Jon was never the one who made tea around the Archives, so it was understandable that the process was foreign to him. Well, no, not really, now that Martin reflected on it. He could’ve learned beforehand, maybe, but Martin also doubted that too, given by the one time Martin found Jon microwaving water in a mug to make his own tea instead of using the kettle. One would think it wouldn’t be easy to ruin tea, but you could be surprised.

Jon was a little confused, but he had the spirit.

“First of all, it’s _not_ rubbish. Second of all, I can help you with it, if you want.” Martin suggested as he came back to the front door. 

“Fine, fine.” Jon mumbled, though he was more pleased with the concept than he’d care to admit.

It also struck Martin that in order to _open_ the door, he’d need to make use of his hands, which Jon was currently preoccupying. He’d love to reenact any movie scene, kick the door in in a dramatic fashion, but having to fix broken hinges this late at night so they didn’t freeze to death in their sleep didn’t sound like a great way to spend their time.

Jon seemed to pick up on the fact also and squirmed in Martin’s arms to be let go. A tragic loss, but they were at an impasse and sacrifices had to be made. He hopped down, the drop being more than he anticipated while still keeping the cups in hand, gesturing with his head to the door. Martin didn’t waste much time, opening the door with the cold knob and gesturing Jon to step inside first, as the proper gentleman.

Once back into the cabin, Martin was quick to shut the door behind him, quiet as he yawned and stretched once more. It was easy to ignore the deep-seated tiredness from waking up so abruptly when they were marvelling in the universe, but stepping inside seemed to strip all the energy from his bones and have him sag. He started to kick off his shoes, blinking through bleary eyes, when they settled on Jon, who was standing there stiff as a board, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot and still insisting on holding both cups. 

A true angel if he’d ever seen it.

Jon stared back down at the mugs, back to Martin, then scrambled about for a temporary surface to dump the tea. It was long forgotten on a table somewhere, not that it mattered, for all Jon wanted to do was move up to Martin, standing on the balls of his feet, and bring him into a tender kiss.

The warmth of their lips tingled like small pricks under their skin, chasing away the cold of the evening. Martin sighed, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist and leaning over to share the space. The wind was swept out the door, sensations of feeling returning to the both of them as Jon wrapped his arms around his neck. Warm as the stars in the sky, the morning sun, the breaking of the dawn. 

Jon pulled away, far enough that he could stare up into Martin’s eyes. It was so plain to see how dim the other stars were in comparison to the beaming Martin right beside him. He could _see_ this, observe him up close, and was even able to touch him, a point Jon silently confirmed to himself by curling his burnt hair through Martin’s hair, soft as silk. One couldn’t dream of touching the sun, but Jon had Martin, and that was better in every respect.

Jon cleared his throat. “I love you, you know.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against Martin’s.

Martin’s expression might as well have been a christmas tree, with how it lit up.

“I love you too, Jon.” Martin punctuated with a quick peck to Jon’s nose. “Let’s make some tea.”

“Yes.” Jon nodded. He didn’t unwrap himself from Martin. Didn’t move from his radiant star. “That does sound like a good idea.”


End file.
